Wrongful Arrest
by lotus-brody
Summary: Another quick EG story I wrote a little over a year ago. George forgets his bag of tricks and needs the keys to get into Don's office. Elliot's the only one left in the precinct with them. Rated for slash and mature themes. R&R!


Disclaimer: I don't own George or Elliot, or any of Dick Wolf's creations. I wish I did.

A/N: I'm pretty sure that this is the first SVU short I ever wrote, I found it while trolling my old stories. I rather like it. Another from the POV of George.

**Wrongful Arrest?**

Ah. Damn. Drooping my head in frustration I sighed, banging my head against the top of my white Toyota. Hard. I could be such an idiot sometimes. I had my briefcase full of case files which I'd brought from work to help shed light on the situation from earlier today, but I didn't have my bag of tricks. Right now they were in Captain Cragen's office, and I certainly didn't feel like leaving all those powerful anti-psychotics back there where anyone could stumble on them. Certainly not good for me.

I unlocked the car, slipped my briefcase into the trunk, and turned around to head for the precinct. I locked it with my remote car starter as I pushed through the doors, rather hating myself about it. I'd been distracted all day, considering the looks I'd been getting from a certain head detective who was having it extremely rough.

"Back so soon?" a security guard with a nametag that read Julie asked me. I looked at her. She was very pretty and had a bright smile.

I smiled at her, tapping my head. "Yeah, forgot my drugs."

"Right. My shift's ending. Good-night doctor."

"Night."

I left the foyer and headed for the elevator. I remembered it was "Out of Order" as I pushed the button and nothing happened. I went for the stairs, rolling my eyes. It was after midnight – I wanted to get home to feed my cat and my fish. I wanted to have a cup of tea and fall asleep. I had rounds, first thing in the morning.

The squad room was dark. The only light was from the screen savers playing on the detective's computers and from a single orange beam from the window. I'd stayed too late, everyone had gone. Again, stupid.

I went for Don's door and found it locked. The blinds were down so I couldn't see inside. I banged my head against the window feeling even more frustrated by the minute. I could clearly see where the bag was in my minds eye. Elliot was probably still upstairs in the bunks, or the crib as they call it, sleeping. He'd have the key's I'm sure, but I'd hate to wake him up. It was a bad day.

I weighed the pros and cons of each decision. Cranky detective, powerful drugs left alone when my rounds come about at the crack of dawn. Meaning I had to make an unnecessary trip from my apartment in SoHo to the precinct, and then to Bellevue psyche. No thanks. I'd take an angry Elliot over that any day.

The stairs were narrow and the locker/weight room looked eerie in the dim light. I'd thought I'd seen movement, but must've been imagining things. I hate not being able to see. The bunkroom was a few feet away, door shut. I walked over and peered through the window to locate his sleeping form. It was too dim to tell though. No good.

"Th' hell are you?" A voice snarled from my left.

Before I could say a word to my identity or ask who was there a hand gripped my arm and pulled. I was slammed back first into the closest row of lockers. "Jesus!" I yelled. I grunted, gritting my teeth, glaring at my attacker, trying to move forward.

His hand stopped me. A shadow moved in front of me. I felt strong hands turn and press me hard up against the lockers. The voice, I recognized it now that the initial shock was past, whispered in my ear, deep and husky. Elliot.

"Whaddya sneakin' up here for?" he whispered.

"Why do you care?" I countered.

"Suspicious person spyin' on sleepin' cops."

Hands found my right leg, searching. Slowly his hands moved up and down, then to the other. He repeated the process, taking his sweet time.

"What do you hope to find? Perhaps I can help," I offered.

"Lemme ask the questions."

Both hands dove into my pockets. I sucked in a breath as his hands strayed close. He relieved me of my keys and cell phone. Next thing I knew my wallet slipped out of my back pocket.

"Don't move." Tone and command were simple. I wondered what he was thinking about.

I heard him flip through slowly, "hmm"-ing every so often. When I asked him why he was searching my wallet and attacking me he shoved my shoulder. My wallet hit the bench and his body pressed up hard against me. His breath was hot against my ear and I clenched my teeth, letting out a slow breath.

"Whaddya doin' here?" he hissed.

"Well I can safely say my devious plan didn't involve getting my head bashed in."

"Funny."

His hands were searching over my arms and chest, slowly. I had to swallow hard as one brushed one of my nipples.

"Please, don-" I tried to say, but his finger touched my lips and the searching hand gently teased me again until it was hard.

"Shh… easy or hard, it's up to you." All the while his fingers gently teased, attempting to elicit little moans.

A shudder fell down my back. "This is police brutality."

A hand slipped up and pulled my head back exposing my neck, like a vampire. His lips skimmed my neck. I couldn't prevent the little whimper that escaped me. His lips pressed hard and I pressed myself even harder against the lockers. The hand on my chest started to slip down over my stomach. Fingers tugged at my shirt until it was loose. I wanted to help, but my hands stayed pressed against the metal.

His fingers touched my stomach, then slipped under the hem of my pants. Then his head moved, lips parted and his teeth skimmed my neck.

"Oh, God…" I moaned.

I arched back against him. I moved my arm down and grabbed his, holding his hand.

A wave of heat washed over me, sweat breaking out on my temples and forehead. I felt myself growing hard, forgetting the manner in which he found and attacked me.

His hand squeezed and I moaned. Moving, I turned my head to look up at him, thanking for once that I was shorter. He looked at me and I could see the light reflecting off of his eyes. I could feel, _feel_ the intensity he was broadcasting. He wanted me, he wanted to lay me on that bench and I wanted him to.

We kissed, once a simple gesture, like when we were alone looking for a little comfort on a tough case. Then we kissed again; a burst of heat as our tongues explored each other's almost feverishly. His erection pressed against my back and he moved against me, moaning softly, gently stroking me all the while.

He pulled away, pressing his face into my hair. "Been too long."

"A month."

His grip tightened. "Way too long."

"Then love me."

He turned me slowly and his arms tightened about me. We kissed once again, and then he pulled away, gasping for breath.

"Come here for me?"

I felt a little guilty. Heck, scratch a little. Big time.

"Key's," I said after a moment.

"Aw," he said, sounding genuinely hurt. "And after the tension and need that was passing between us all day you didn't want to come here for me?"

"Thanks, guilt trip. Great."

"I'm sorry. Finish your story."

"My bag's back in Don's office. I was just heading home. Want to come?"

His mouth found mine at once. He pressed me against the lockers again, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth and the passion brought a small pricking of tears to my eyes. No one before him had ever kissed me like this.

After a moment we both pulled away for breath. I practically felt the sweat steaming off my skin. I wondered if I could make it to my place.

"I think I'll take that as a yes."

"Mmm. Yeah. You can."


End file.
